Watching You Fall
by Black-Rose-117
Summary: Post-Fall. A story on the conflicts between the characters during the three years of Sherlock "death". Done on Omegle with a friend of mine. She plays "you" and I play "stranger".


You: John dashed forward, dazed from the hit by the bicyclist. He had to get to Sherlock, had to save him somehow.

Stranger: Sherlock laid on the ground, bleeding

You: Babbling somewhat incoherently, John fought his way through the onlookers surrounding his friend. He turned Sherlock onto his back and grabbed for his wrist, trying to find a pulse. "Oh, god, no," he moaned, feeling nothing. "God, no."

Stranger: And still bleeding...

You: John felt someone grab his shoulders as he collapsed, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's bloody face. He was pulled back and paramedics came with a stretcher, bundling Sherlock onto it and bearing his body away.

Stranger: Lestrade walked up to the scene, seeing John, he took hold of him away from the paramedic that was holding him. "John...? What happened? John...?

You: "He's... he's gone," John mumbled, trying to focus on Lestrade's face. "He just... jumped. Said goodbye and jumped."

Stranger: "He's what...?" Lestrade asked, focusing on the tears on John's face. "He what..?"

You: "Sherlock jumped," John sobbed, his knees giving out and hitting the pavement. "He jumped and had no pulse. I felt it, I tried but I couldn't get to him in time. I couldn't save him, couldn't stop him. All I could do was watch..." John continued to mumble, staring at the ground

Stranger: Lestrade wrapped his arms around the sobbing John, holding his so he wouldn't fall more. "God... Not him... God... Why?"

You: "He told me he was... a fake," John said brokenly. "Said everything was true, he made everything up, hired Moriarty. Told me to spread the word. But I don't believe it... I... I can't. He is... -was-... brilliant."

Stranger: "I know he was... John if he was lying about anything... I believe he lied to you in his final goodbye..." Lestrade felt John whimper.

You: "Why?" John asked. "Why? What would be the point?" John buried his head in Lestrade's shoulder, crying for all he was worth. He still couldn't believe his best friend was gone.

Stranger: "I... Don't know..." Lestrade said, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. "Come on, let's go back to my place ok?"

You: John didn't say anything, just let Lestrade pull him to his feet. His mind was lost in a fog, replaying the last few moments of his and Sherlock's conversation. Seeing the detective's hand stretched out to him.

Stranger: "Come on, my car is just over there..." Lestrade wrapped his arm around the broke John and led him in the general direction.

You: John stumbled with Lestrade, his brain finally shutting down. No thoughts crossed his mind, he just reacted to the directions the DI gave him

Stranger: "God that man... Let him rest in peace..." Lestrade muttered.

You: John sat down in the seat, his head resting against the window. "Sherlock, why?" John whispered to his reflection. "I have to believe you were lying, no one could fake that cleverness... Why?"

Stranger: Lestrade settled into the drivers seat with a groan and looked at John, who was staring sadly at himself in the window. The man was a wreck, his eyes red and his clothes damp. "John I-" Lestrade said slowly, putting his hand on John's knee.

You: John turned his head slowly to focus on Lestrade, his eyes blank. He waited passively for the DI to speak again

Stranger: Lestrade looked at John's pleading look for comfort. What do you say to a man who is this broken up... "I'm sorry, John..."

Stranger: He finished weakly.

You: Nodding, John turned back to the window, staring at the traffic passing by his window. He knew he was in shock but didn't want to think too hard. When he could feel again, he knew it would -hurt-

Stranger: They arrived at Lestrade's flat, he helped get John's door open and held a hand out to him.

You: John ignored Lestrade's hand and got slowly out of the car. His leg had started hurting on the ride over, probably from being knocked to the ground. He stood next to Lestrade silently, waiting for the DI to lead the way

Stranger: He just looked at John, his weak, broken, hurting form. He could tell his legs would give out any moment. He felt gut wrenching pain at the thought of what John must feel. The shock that Sherlock was dead hasn't hit the DI yet. Probably for the best.

You: Lestrade led John up the stairs to his house, shooting a look at his wife to silence her. The last thing John needed was more people around. John stumbled to a seat on the couch, his head dropping into his hands

Stranger: Lestrade hastily sat next to him and touched his back lightly. Tears started up in his eyes.

You: "He... he's really... gone," John whispered, his fingers gripping hard at his hair. "What do I do now?"

Stranger: "You soldier on John... We all soldier on... Don't you think that's what he would want..."

You: "I don't know," John said. "He said he wanted me to tell everyone he was a fake. But he couldn't have been. Oh, god, I have to call Mycroft. I don't think he's been told yet."

Stranger: "Want me to give you a moment alone?" Lestrade asked, bending down to John.

You: "Yeah," John whispered, the ragged edges of pain creeping up on him. "Please."

Stranger: Lestrade stood and left, closing the door behind him and going to make them some tea.

You: As soon as Lestrade left, John curled into a ball on the couch and howled his grief to the ceiling. All the emotions crashed in on him at once, burying him in an avalanche of pain and fury and sorrow

Stranger: ...beep?

You: John didn't hear the sound from his phone at first until it repeated. He fumbled at his pocket and drew his phone out, looking at the text

Stranger: National emergency. Come at once. -MH

You: Go to hell Mycroft. It doesn't matter. - JW

Stranger: What's going on? -MH

You: The British Gov't doesn't know yet? - JW

Stranger: Know what? I swear Johnny, sometimes you make no sense... -MH

Stranger: Did sherly break up with you? I'll have a stern talk to him later. -MH

You: You're slacking, Mycroft. Sherlock's dead. And don't call me Johnny and we weren't together - JW

Stranger: He's... What? -MH

You: Gone. Dead. Jumped from St. Bart's. Now kindly go to hell and leave me alone - JW

Stranger: When were you planning on telling me? Oh god... -MH

You: I'm telling you now. He just died about 20 mins ago - JW

Stranger: Oh god... -MH

Stranger: why? -MH

You: Moriarty. - JW

Stranger: Moriarty? God damn... I'm sorry John... -MH

You: No. Don't tell me that. I don't wanna hear it. Just leave me alone - JW

Stranger: Goodbye then... -MH

You: John let the phone slip from his fingers and laid his head on the arm of the couch. He stared blankly at the wall across from him, his thoughts flickering over his memories of Sherlock

Stranger: Lestrade walked back in with two cups of tea. "You call Mycroft?" He asked, setting a cup next to John.

You: "Texted me," John replied shortly. "He knows." He took the cup of tea and took a deep sip, ignoring the burn of the hot liquid.

Stranger: "Careful John... It's hot." Lestrade said worriedly watching John.

You: "So?" John replied, taking a smaller sip. He set the cup down carefully, the cup rattling against the saucer. He crossed his arms over his chest and went back to studying the wall

Stranger: "John... I know it hurts and all... But you can't just-" John cut him off

You: "You have no idea," John snapped. "I'm the only one who still believes in him. You helped Moriarty tear him down."

Stranger: Lestrade staied quiet, watching John.

You: "The whole world turned against him," John continued, his voice rising. "Just like Sherlock thought they would. He claimed it never hurt, he never felt anything. But he did. I could see it in his eyes."

Stranger: "I- I know... I wish I never... That I..." Lestrade finially broke down and hid his face in his hands.

You: John fell silent, his anger simmering deep in his chest. He knew it was that superior of Lestrade's and Donovan and Anderson. They were the ones he was angry at to hide his true anger at Sher... -him-.

Stranger: Lestrade continued to cry. He muttered things like "Why him...?" and "Why did I ever do that..?" and "Its all my fault hes gone..."

You: John patted Lestrade's shoulder awkwardly, understanding that the DI was in as much pain as he was. And he had known -him- longer. "Greg, I... I'm sorry," John muttered

Stranger: "Don't even..." Lestrade sobbed. "It's all my fault... It should have been me... It should have been me..."

You: "No," John replied quietly. "You were following orders you had to. This was all Moriarty's fault. He's the one who should be taking the blame." John felt the blankness and fog fall away. Helping others, those in pain, that was the only thing that would draw him out now

Stranger: "It should have been me, John... We both know it..." Lestrade said again, finally looking up and meeting John's eyes.

You: "It shouldn't have been -anyone-," John said forcibly. "The only one who should have died on that roof was Moriarty. The only thing we can do is nothing."

Stranger: "I know..." Lestrade stood. He looked down at John. "I just can't believe..." He paced over to the fireplace, filling it with wood. "I wish their was though..."

You: "I know," John said, retreating into himself again. Lestrade was better and John couldn't bring himself to believe his own words.

Stranger: "Are you going back to... Are you going to continue to live in 221B?"

You: "I have nowhere else," John mumbled, a sob tearing from his throat. "Though what I'm going to do with his stuff..."

Stranger: Lestrade turned back to John. "What are you going to do with it all? I have a file cabinet I don't use that you can have to..."

You: "Sure, thanks," John sighed, tears trickling down his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away and just stared out the window.

Stranger: Lestrade sat back down next to John and pulled him close as he started to wheep again. Nothing was said as they both sat there, crying over the loss of the detective.

Stranger: -

You: "Sherlock, was that really necessary?" Molly asked, tears rolling down her face at the memory of John falling apart

Stranger: Sherlock sat up on the table where he had been lying, coughing roughly into his hand, gasping for air. "Yes... I... I had to..." Sherlock let the hurt he felt slip into his voice just a bit.

You: "Why?" Molly asked, sponging the blood off of Sherlock's face. It hadn't been difficult to grab a bag of blood for transfusions to help the detective fake his death

Stranger: "If I didn't... he would've been killed..." Sherlock said slowly, catching his breath and starting to mess with a towel that lay next to him, sponging it out in his nervious hands. "I can't live without him..."

You: Molly looked into Sherlock's eyes, surprise widening her own. "You can't live without him?" she repeated in a whisper. "You really do care, don't you?"

Stranger: "Of course I bloody care! I-" Sherlock stopped, breaking the connection between his and Molly's eyes. "I-"

You: Molly let the familiar pain ripple through her and concentrated on cleaning the space around them. Bloodstained tissues went into the trash and she asked, "Who would have killed him? Why?"

Stranger: "Moriarty's snipers.." Sherlock muttered barely above a whisper. "Because if I didn't die... that would have killed me..."

Stranger: "And Moriarty knew it..."

You: "Snipers?" Molly asked, fear in her voice. "Where they just after John? And how would they know?"

Stranger: "No, they weren't just after John... they were after..." He cut off, looking down.

You: Molly swallowed audibly, fighting down the terror rising in her chest. "Sherlock?" she asked quietly. "Who else were they watching? Who else is in danger?"

Stranger: "Lestrade... and Mrs. Hudson... My friends..."

You: "Is that why you jumped?" Molly said suddenly, different facts clicking together in her mind. "That was the price of their safety, wasn't it? Your death."

Stranger: "It was..."

Stranger: sherlock's voice caught and his voice broke on the words.

You: Molly impulsively hugged Sherlock, holding his head on her shoulder. "It'll be all right," she murmured. "Do you need a place to stay, out of sight? I've got a basement..."

Stranger: "Molly... I couldn't... I mean I do but..."

You: Molly cut him off with a wave of her hand. Though how he saw it, she had no idea. Leaning back and tilting his head up, amazed at her own temerity at touching him, Molly said sternly, "You still need help, Sherlock Holmes. Don't be too proud to accept it."

Stranger: Sherlock just stared at Molly for a long moment before nodding. "Thanks..."

You: She nodded back and grabbed an extra white labcoat hanging in the room. "Put this on," she said, handing it to him. "Should help disguise that oh-so-familiar black coat of yours."

You: Molly smirked at him and walked to her locker. She pulled out a slightly rumpled deerstalker hat and tossed it at Sherlock. "That's the best I can do."

Stranger: "You're kidding me..." Sherlock said in slight disgust, looking over the hat "its a bloody ear hat... and why does it have two fronts?"

You: Molly snickered at him, blushing. She loved the pictures of him in the paper with the hat and went out and bought her own. "Because it does," she shrugged. "You have two choices: wear it and be more disguised or not wear and possibly be recognized."

Stranger: Sherlock groaned and shot her a look as he put it on. "So? How. Do. I. Look?" He growled with hate seeping into his voice.

You: "You look good," Molly said frankly, blushing an even deeper red. "Though you may want to change your hair to disguise yourself more. The black curls are a fairly good giveaway."

Stranger: Sherlock growled again. "Do you. Have. Sizzors?"

You: "Yeah, somewhere," Molly replied, searching the room. She came up with a pair of surgical scissors and brandished them. "Want me to cut your hair?"

Stranger: "Yes... Cut it..." Sherlock paused and ran his hair hand through his hair, taking off the cap. "Cut it... all... off..."

You: Molly bit her lip and stood behind Sherlock, slowly but surely cutting all the glossy black locks off. She stopped when his hair was only a few millimeters long. "Good enough?" she asked, stepping back

Stranger: Sherlock went a mirror in a small washroom, holding only a sink and a mirror, and looked in. He gasped and grabbed the sink for support. "G-God..."

You: "Its a bit of a shock," Molly said quietly from behind him. She dropped the scissors onto a table and waited while Sherlock studied his reflection

Stranger: Slowly he touched the stubs, pulling his hand away almost at once as though they burned.

You: "I... I'm sorry," Molly stuttered, heart skipping at the pain on Sherlock's face. "Are you ready to go now? I think you'll be suitably unrecognizable."

Stranger: Sherlock slipped on the cap, shaking slightly. "y-Yeah... I... I'm ready..."

You: "Right," Molly said briskly, hiding the pain behind her professional face. "Let's go. I can drop by your place later and get some stuff for you." She walked out the door and out to her car, leading a surprisingly quiet Sherlock

Stranger: With one last glance at the unfamiliar face that glared back at him, he follow Molly through the familiar hallways.

You: Neither spoke in the car, though Molly did cast several glances over to Sherlock. She could feel a strange brittleness to him and worried that this whole thing might be more than he could handle.

Stranger: "I want..." Sherlock started, then paused, as if he didn't want to finish...

You: "What?" Molly asked gently, glancing at him again.

Stranger: Sherlock stared at his reflection in the window. "I want... I want John..."

You: "So why not go to him?" Molly asked reasonably. "Moriarty's dead, he's laying in my autopsy room."

Stranger: "If I do... the snipers will kill him for knowing I'm still around..." Sherlock's voice caught in his voice again. "I want John..."

You: "Oh, Sherlock," Molly whispered, her heart breaking for the man next to her. "You just need to make sure everyone's safe. Stop the snipers."

You: *for some reason, in my headcanon, molly is the voice of reason when given some actual not-blushing-and-stuttering-over-Sherlock time hehe*

Stranger: "That could take weeks... months... even Years, Molly! I can't live without him that lo..." Sherlock shook his head.

Stranger: *she really is...*

You: Molly nodded her head and moved her hand to pat Sherlock's knee. She was surprised when he didn't move away. "Time doesn't matter if you're making sure those you care about are safe," Molly said. "And you can always see him without him seeing you. Can't be that hard for a genius like you."

Stranger: "It's not the same..." Sherlock said slowly, taking Molly's hand.

You: "No," Molly agreed. "But its better than nothing. And once you make them safe, you can go back to him."

Stranger: "I know... I plan to.. And..." Sherlock cut off.

You: "What?" Molly asked. Her fingers twined around Sherlock's and squeezed gently. "How can I help?"

Stranger: "Can you... get me a picture of him?" Sherlock asked shyly.

You: "Probably," Molly said thougtfully. "Are there any of him lying around the flat?"

Stranger: "None..." Sherlock said slowly. "I know that makes it harder but... He was never into taking pictures really."

You: "That's all right," Molly replied. "I'm sure I can figure something out. Even if I have to get Greg in on it. I bet John wouldn't say no to a group picture."

Stranger: "I would love one of just him too... if you can manage...?"

You: "Sure," Molly squeezed his hand again and smiled at him. This was a side of the detective she had never seen and, if she was being honest with herself, had to admit she was a little jealous it was John who brought out this side of him.

Stranger: "Thank you..." Sherlock forced a smile. He was quiet for most of the rest of the ride.

You: "You're welcome," Molly said and pulled up outside her flat. She led Sherlock up the stairs and flicked on the lights

Stranger: Sherlock followed her inside and looked around. "This is... cozy.." He looked at the pictures of the family that lined the walls.

You: "Thanks," Molly said, blushing at Sherlock's examination of her flat. She walked into the kitchen asking, "Want some tea?"

Stranger: "Please... Mind if I sit?" Sherlock called back.

You: "Go ahead," Molly called from the kitchen, touched at the politeness. She arranged some cookies on a plate and brought it out on a tray along with the tea. "Sugar?" she offered, holding out the sugar bowl

Stranger: "Thanks.." Sherlock spooned two into the tea and stirred it, taking a cookie along with it.

You: "So what is your plan now?" Molly asked, after taking a sip of her tea. She nibbled on a cookie, watching Sherlock

Stranger: "I honestly have... no idea..." Sherlock said, nibbling at the cookie. "I haven't planned it from here."

You: Molly thought for a few moments, going over the things Sherlock had told her so far. She finished her cookie and cleared her throat. "How many snipers did you say there were?" she asked.

Stranger: "Three, as far as I know... There may be more..." Sherlock said, sipping his tea.

You: "Well, they seem to be the major problem," Molly said thoughtfully. "No more snipers means you can go back to John."

Stranger: "You have no idea how bad I want..." Sherlock looked down at his shoes, still stained slightly in blood. He set his tea and cookie down on a table next to him and stood, pacing the flat.

You: "I kind of do," Molly admitted. "But that doesn't matter. Do you know who the snipers are?"

Stranger: Sherlock was quiet for a minute, pausing just at the right angle to look down at the sidewalk below through the window as to not be seen. "I don't..." He said slowly. "I wish I did... It would make everything go so much faster..."

You: Molly grabbed another cookie and chewed slowly while she thought. "You're going to need more help than just me," she finally said

Stranger: "I need Mycroft... He would know... His people would know, at least. But I can't risk it..." Sherlock started pacing again. "I would text him, but it could be easily interceptd... I could get a new number, but still, saying my name over a text would be too risky. No, he would have to know the truth and would have to know the number without my name being attacted vertually to it..."

You: "You could use mine," Molly offered.

Stranger: "He would still need to know it's me... Still have to be told..."

You: "So text him to come here," Molly said. "I could offer my condolences to him here. Good pretext."

Stranger: "That may work... Can I see your phone?"

You: Molly handed Sherlock her phone and waited while he quickly typed out the text

Stranger: Sherlock read the text outloud as he typed. "It's Molly, got the number from John. Heard about Sherlock, I was a friend. Could you come to my place, I have some things of his I think you may want." Sherlock finished and looked up at her. "Sound good?"

You: "Yes, it does," Molly said, trying not to think of what it would be like to have -two- Holmes brothers in her flat. "That should bring him here, right? He'd want your stuff?"

Stranger: "I would think so." Sherlock muttered as he pressed send. "I just hope he comes alone..."

You: "If he's anything like you," Molly joked weakly. "He probably will. I can't imagine he'd have much patience for people he considered beneath him."

Stranger: Sherlock chuckled. "So true..."

You: They waited in silence, sipping tea and eating the rest of the cookies. About half an hour later, a firm knock sounded from the door. Molly checked through the peephole and gestured Sherlock over. "That him?" she whispered

Stranger: Sherlock peered through the hole. "yes." He said flatly, steping back and out of the doorway's sight as Molly answered the door

You: "Hello, Mr. Holmes," Molly said formally, stepping back to allow Mycroft into her flat. "Thanks for coming."

Stranger: "Where's this stuff of Sherlock's you claimed to have had? I've failed to hear anything about you from him." Mycroft said as he moved into the flat.

You: "Not really surprising," Molly said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "I never really counted. But the stuff I have is just through here." She pointed to the doorway Sherlock stood in and waited for Mycroft to turn.

Stranger: As Mycroft's eyes landed on Sherlock, he paused and a heavy atmosphere coated the room. "Evening Mycroft..." Sherlock said slowly as Molly shut the door.

You: "Wh... what?" Mycroft said, his eyes studying Sherlock's face intently. "Sherlock... you're... you're not dead?"

Stranger: "I am not..." Sherlock took a step towards Mycroft, his hands in his deep black coat. "It was all a trick."

You: "What was this, just a game to you?" Mycroft asked angrily, glaring at Sherlock. "You got bored so you decided to fake your own death?"

Stranger: "No, Mycroft... Please, listen to my reasoning-"

You: Mycroft turned away and swept his eyes over Molly's flat looking for a suitable seat. He finally settled down in a leather armchair and gestured imperiously for Sherlock to continue. "Oh, do please," he said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm all ears."

Stranger: Sherlock sat down opposite of him and crossed his legs, his hands stapled to his chin. "Moriarty, you see, threatened to kill John if I didn't jump. There were three, at least, snipers out there, aiming their guns at John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I didn't jump and kill myself, they would all die. I faked my death to save them, now I need to stay in hiding until I can figure out some way to cut off the snipers. But see, I need your help..."

You: Mycroft chuckled, interrupting Sherlock. "That's rich," he said. "And why should I help you when I have to force you to help me?"

Stranger: "Because if you don't-" Sherlock growled, leaning dangerously to Mycroft. "Three inocient people will die out there, and I will actually be killed. If not killed, then I will kill myself, because without those people, I am nothing. Are you going to help. Or. Not?"

You: Mycroft's eyes widened at the anger in Sherlock's voice. He raised his hands consolingly and said, "Yes, I will help. Dear, dear, has the little army doctor gotten to you?"

Stranger: "Maybe he has, what is it to you?" Sherlock leaned back, the dangerous glint still settled in his eyes.

You: "Just worried about you, brother dear," Mycroft said smoothly. "Now, how can I help?"

Stranger: Sherlock snorted at the comment but continued. "Your people can figure out who the snipers are, how many, and where they are, am I mistaken?"

You: "Yeeees," Mycroft said, drawing the word out thoughtfully. "But it may take time. How much time are you willing to devote to this?"

Stranger: "As little as possible-" Sherlock cut off and took a deep breath. "But I will wait as long as it's need to ensure the safety of us all..."

You: Mycroft nodded and pulled out his phone. He sent a quick text to Anthea, describing what he wanted done. "There," he said satisfied. "My people are on it. Until then, what are you going to do?"

Stranger: "I need to stay low... undercover until I can get a sniper in sight and figure out how to take him out..." Sherlock said, looking away from Mycroft and over to Molly, who hadn't moved. "I'll need a place to stay as well..." He turned back to Mycroft. "I don't want to be a burden."

You: "I told you, you could stay here," Molly interrupted before Mycroft could speak. "The basement is finished and you can stay down there."

Stranger: "Are you sure? This could be a few... years... opperation..." Sherlock swallowed hard.

You: "I'm sure," Molly said, nodding decisively. "Besides, you'll be able to keep a better eye on John if you were close."

Stranger: Sherlock paused. John... "Thank you Molly. And Mycroft, can you keep an eye on him? I worry he's going to do something... regretful..."

You: Mycroft nodded, his eyes softening slightly. Whatever anyone else might think, he truly did care for his brother. "You might want to check out the assassins that moved in near your flat," Mycroft said, standing. "If I were Moriarty, I would move them there for insurance. You may find the first sniper there."

Stranger: "Sounds like a good start." Sherlock said, standing as well. "the question is how..."

You: "You've got a good disguise started," Mycroft said. "I would try to change your gait and definitely your clothes. If you can wander around incognito, that should help."

Stranger: "That should be a good start... Thank you, Mycroft..." Sherlock held out his hand a little awkwardly to his brother.

You: Smiling, Mycroft shook Sherlock's hand and pulled him into an awkward hug. "I'm glad to know you're alive," he said, before stepping away and opening the door. "Be careful."

Stranger: Sherlock just nodded as Mycroft left, a little taken aback by the hug.

You: "Are you ok?" Molly asked quietly after Mycroft had left. Sherlock had been staring at the door, a slightly blank look on his face

Stranger: "fine..." Sherlock cleared his throat, turning to her.

You: "So what now?" she asked nervously

Stranger: "First... Im going to need to change my clothes into something not... me... Then I'm going to go check out the flat..." Sherlock said, starting towards the window.

You: Molly motioned for Sherlock to wait and dashed into her bedroom. She grabbed a few things from the bottom drawer of her dresser and handed them to Sherlock when she walked back out. "Old boyfriends' stuff," she explained. "I hope it'll do until we can get more for you."

Stranger: Sherlock nodded and took them from here. "Thanks." He said looking over the clothing. "this should do until I can go out and shop for more."

Stranger: -end of chapter 1-


End file.
